


A Certain Romance

by ArtemisWinnick



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drugs, F/M, Organized Crime, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Violence, the peaky blinders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisWinnick/pseuds/ArtemisWinnick
Summary: "And there's the truth that they can't see. They'd probably like to throw a punch at me and if you could only see 'em, then you would agree. Agree that there ain't no romance around there..." - A Certain Romance, Arctic Monkeys.This is the story of a dancing girl whose life is suddenly up-ended by one Michael Gray on a fateful night in Camden, 1921...
Relationships: Michael Gray/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. No. 1 Party Anthem

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, loves! Before jumping into the story, it's about time for my usual Author's Note (e.g. warning): I tried my very best to imitate the dialogue pattern and general themes of the show, however... I'm neither British nor was I born in time to personally witness the 1920's-30's. In light of this, expect the language to sound a little Americanized and for there to be a shit ton of historical inaccuracy. As for exploring the general themes of the show, if you've seen Peaky Blinders then you know there's lots of a) sex, b) drugs, and c) rock and roll. Just kidding, there's only rock and roll in the soundtrack. What there is a lot of in the show is Violence with a capital "V" and a wide variety of it, from murder to sexual abuse. There will be scenes depicting acts of violence in the story which may be triggering for some. You will also notice that the morals and values of the characters reflect the time period (to the best of my ability) and their own individual personalities. Please keep in mind that just because one of the character's expresses an opinion, even our lead character, it does NOT mean that I agree with or endorse that opinion. And... I think that's all I have to warn you about for now. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

It was a Friday night like any other. I'd finished an impromptu dancing gig at the seedy little Camden Club I worked at and, in exchange for coming in on short notice, the rest of the dancing girls and I were to be given free drinks for the rest of the evening. Obviously, Daria wanted to stick around-- and wanted me to stick around with her.

"I don't know, maybe we should call it a night..." I whispered to her as she dragged me along to the bar with the rest of the giggling dancing girls. I could feel the eyes of every man in that smoke filled lounge on us. I was used to it. Why wouldn't they stare? We practically sparkled in our dancing costumes amidst the grime and smoke of the club.

"Why?" She asked incredulously. "There's booze on the house until midnight for us!"

She turned to order a drink, but I grabbed her wrist and yanked her back.

"You've heard the whispering Daria-- the Peaky Blinders making a move on Camden Town... it might be dangerous to be out right now. Especially here."

"Camden is Solomon turf, Celeste," She cut in with an unimpressed sigh, though I noted that her eyes flickered around to see if any of the men were close enough to hear our conversation. "And the Blinders may be a bunch of savages from Birmingham, but they have an agreement with Alfie-- they would never make a move on Camden."

"Actually, my cousin Dorothy was whoring for a Solomon chap and she heard him talking," One of the other dancing girls cut in, reaching over us to grab a drink from the bartender, Billy. "Says it seems like there's trouble brewin' between 'em and the Blinders. She saw some of Sabini's men visiting Alfie."

Daria shot her a look.

"Right and your cousin Dorothy the whore just knows everything now, doesn't she?" She asked dryly.

"Didn't say that. I'm still here ain't I?" She shrugged, taking her drink and gave me a teasing nudge. "Cheer up, love."

Daria gestured after her emphatically as she walked away.

"My point exactly— stop listening to gossip, Celeste!"

"We could just go somewhere else!" I returned. "This isn't the only place to drink in Camden!"

"It's the only place we can drink for _free_ \--!"

The bartender, hovering nearby, interrupted us exasperatedly. "Do the two of you want to give me your orders or--."

I shook my head rapidly.

"No--."

"Yes!" Daria spoke over me. "Champagne for the both of us, please."

"Daria!" I exclaimed as Billy turned away. "What if they come in here and... I don't know, pillage and plunder or whatever else it is those Brummie bastards do..."

I trailed off, imagining the possibilities. Daria was behaving as though I was being utterly unreasonable, but this was a favorite haunt for the 'bread-makers' of Camden Town. If the Blinders were going to hit somewhere, it could very well be here. Daria sighed and took my hand in hers with her mothering expression on. I pursed my lips.

"Celeste, dearest... you need to fuckin' relax, alright love? I understand why you're worried, but the likelihood is just so slim that, well, who gives a fuck?" She responded to my scowl with a wide smile. "Oh, come now, I've got something that will put the smile back on your face..."

She retrieved a little vial of Tokyo from her garter belt and offered it to me. I huffed unhappily but snatched it from her anyway. She smiled at me. I narrowed my eyes back. She smiled harder and wiggled her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes and burst out laughing.

"I hate you... but fine!" I unstoppered the vial. I never could resist a night of fun— at least not with Daria talking me into it.

A bottle of champagne later, I was laughing at something she'd said, mention of the Peaky Blinders forgotten, when I saw two young men enter the club. It struck me that one of them was black-- we didn't get a lot of those in here-- but they wore matching grey three piece suits with starched white shirts, heads shaved on the sides. They stopped at the entrance for a moment, like they were taking in the scene. I motioned for Daria to sneak a peek.

"Handsome buggers, aren't they?" She looked over her shoulder. Despite asking her to be subtle, she twisted her neck like a fucking owl. I smacked her arm lightly when I saw the white man's eyes slide over to us. He elbowed his friend and gestured to us.

"Fuck— they saw you looking!" I could feel myself turning pink already as they approached.

"Oh, no... the two handsome strangers saw us, whatever will we do..." She said dryly before throwing back the remainder of her champagne. I shook my head and looked for them in the crowd again, but they were nowhere to be found now. I felt safe having a night drinking with the girls so long as we stuck together, but purposely attracting the two unknowns that had just walked into the club hardly seemed wise, as I immediately decided to inform Daria.

"I wouldn't get so excited. You know all the men that come in here are just low-life gangsters—," I hissed at her.

"Wha'?" A thickly accented male voice asked from behind me. I whirled around. Leaning on the bar were the two men, sizing us up. The one with sandy brown hair was looming over me, a cat-like grin on his face. Clearly, I'd been overheard. "And I thought this was a gentleman's club, Isaiah. Guess we've come to the wrong place..."

I hated being caught off guard _and_ being loomed over-- so if this was his attempt at flirting with me he was off to a bad start. I refused to back up, even though he was invading my personal space. Instead, I cocked an eyebrow at him, letting my eyes drop to his feet and then travel up his trousers, past the gaudy gold pocket watch and cufflinks, all the way to that absurd haircut.

"And what exactly would the likes of _you_ be doing in a gentleman's club?" I asked with all the condescension I could muster. I could feel rather than see Daria having a heart attack behind me as we held our silent pissing contest, but then his friend burst out laughing. The man finally broke and the smile he gave me indicated he was amused by my belligerence, not pissed off. Considering that the bouncer they had posted for security was busy talking up one of the house whores and the bartender was too old to be of any real help... this was good news.

"Well, we wouldn't have found such charming company elsewhere, I'm sure," He returned, looking me up and down. I rolled my eyes. I knew what he wanted. But I didn't do that kind of thing anymore. Hadn't for at least a few months now. Daria didn't either, but that didn't stop her from instantly chatting up his friend.

"Oy, tall and handsome... You'll be ordering a whiskey for me, won't you?" She batted her eyelashes at Isaiah.

"Well, I definitely am now," he grinned widely, leaning onto the bar to properly introduce himself. His sandy-haired friend took a seat to my left side. When he opened his mouth to speak, however, I immediately cut him off.

"Listen, love, I'm not open for business."

"Business? Let me set your mind at ease— business is the furthest thing from my mind right now..." He smirked.

"Well if it's pleasure you're looking for, you can go pay for it elsewhere. I'm. Not. Open. For. Business," I took my drink and shifted to cross my legs pointedly. He scratched at the back of his head, frowning a bit.

"I think you've got me wrong-- I only brought money for drinks... "

"So sad for you, then," I sniffed unsympathetically, raising an eyebrow. "You should always bring extra cash if you're looking for whores."

"That's what I'm trying to say— I didn't come looking for whores, love. Didn't come looking for anything, but you were here, so now I'm looking anyway," The devious grin was back. I raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. He sighed a little, leaning forward with a most sincere expression painted over his angular features. "You're the most beautiful dame in this place, I don't think I'm allowed _not_ to buy you a drink. God might strike me down with lightning... so let me, would you? I rather like not being a pile of ash."

"But if I let you buy me a drink, what if you think that means I'm giving you something in return afterwards?" I asked, oppositional. He _was_ handsome... But that didn't mean he was going to get anything easily from me. If he could survive the third degree I was giving him, maybe, just maybe... I'd let him actually buy me a drink. Otherwise he could fuck off.

He swept his cap off his head and placed it over his heart.

"I promise you I'm getting you the drink of your choice with no pesky strings attached..." He trailed off seeming to reconsider, "Except maybe one string."

"Oh and what's that." I asked dryly. Of _course_ there would be just one little string attached...

"I want you to keep interrogating me afterwards. I'm rather enjoying this."

My brows shot up completely and I couldn't help but break a smile at him in my surprise. He just... wanted to keep talking? No, he wanted me to keep arguing with him? What kind of odd ball...

"Ah, there we are! A smile— so is that a yes to the drink?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to school my expression.

"I suppose...if you insist."

He waved the bartender over and ordered us a couple of tumblers of whiskey.

"So. Who are you?" I asked him. He shrugged as Billy poured our drinks for us. I mouthed a thank you.

"Just some low-life gangster, who are you?" He asked back. I gave him a twin shrug, sipping my whiskey.

"Just an uppity dancing girl," I said, making him smile. The expression illuminated his handsome features and I had to admit that he really was attractive, stupid haircut and all. No need to let him know that quite yet, though. "But I meant your name... maybe where you're from... why you're here... you know, the usual pertinent information."

"My name's Michael, I'm from here and there," He said vaguely, watching my eyes narrow at him with a sly twist of his mouth. "And I'm here for a drink and a dance, how about you?"

"Coincidentally, my plans included some of that drinking and dancing business, just... not here..." I smirked. He rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. I knew I talked a lot for many men-- something I'd had to learn to control-- but this one at least seemed mightily entertained with every quip and I couldn't stop myself from relaxing a little, sipping my drink. "I work here dancing and a change of scenery would have been nice."

"Right, well, the scenery might not be the best, but at least you're halfway to your goal," He gestured at the drink in my hand. "If you don't like low-life gangsters, though, I doubt you'll be finding yourself a dancing partner around here..."

He shrugged slyly.

"You're still on about that?" I rolled my eyes goodnaturedly. "Since you've such a good memory, I think you'll recall I never said I _didn't_ like low-life gangsters... It was more of an implication than anything else..."

He shot me a look, finally registering that I'd decided to flirt with him. That cat-like grin was back. He nodded slowly.

"I think we're missing just one thing before we can make all your hopes come true tonight, then," He leaned closer to me, licking his lips. "It's your turn to tell me your name."

"Celeste," I stuck out a prim hand, which he took. His hand was so large it engulfed my own, but I gave it a sturdy shake nonetheless. "My name is Celeste."

He blew out a breath, still holding my hand. "That's a helluva name for a dancing girl. You from Paris or some shite like that?"

"No, my parents were just snobby poor people," I laughed, trying to act casual about the continuing physical contact. He had green eyes, I noticed as they smoldered at me.

"In that case, it's very nice making your acquaintance, Celeste," He brought my knuckles up to his lips for a chaste kiss. I retreated the hand quickly as soon as he let go, smiling into my drink. He continued, smirking. "And now that we've been properly introduced, would you care to dance?"

I looked to the big band, playing a lively tune, and then back at Michael before throwing back the rest of my whiskey. He seemed surprised by how quickly I swallowed it down.

"Sure. You Charleston?" I asked, a little smug.

"As soon as I finish this glass I do," He held up a finger, tipping the remnants of his whiskey into his mouth with a speed that surpassed even my own. I laughed and he set down his tumbler with a bang before grabbing my hand. "We're off."

He pulled me out onto the dance floor, holding both my hands in his as we started the bounce and kick of the Charleston. He wasn't the best dancer but he was confident and utterly willing to muck about, whirling me around and around. I laughed like a schoolgirl, the legs of other couples flying all around us.

I'd thought I was all danced out earlier, but it seemed I'd caught a second wind, the two of us circling and kicking back, together, forward, together. He released me and I could feel his eyes on me as I shimmied expertly to the band. I'll admit it— I was showing off. He grabbed my hand when we met again in the middle, pulling me close, moving his other hand to the small of my back as we kept dancing.

"This isn't how you Charleston!" I yelled over the music, when he held me flush to him instead of falling back into step.

He rolled his eyes and then spun me out, pulling me in again for a dip. When I was upright again, his hands were on my hips.

"Do I look like I give a fuck about the Charleston?" He said, right in my ear. It sent a jolt down my spine and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. We danced to a couple more songs before heading back to the bar for another drink. Daria was very busy sucking face with Isaiah. We both looked at them, then back at each other before bursting out laughing.

"Whiskey!" Michael snapped his fingers at Billy. He stripped off his jacket, exposing the holstered gun at his side. This wasn't an unusual sight in this club, so I didn't think twice about it. "Oy, mate, watch this for me would you?"

He shoved the jacket at his friend who broke the vacuum seal he had on my friend's face.

"Fuck off," Isaiah replied, grabbing the jacket anyway. He suddenly frowned, pulling out his pocket watch. "It's getting late, mate."

That confused me-- it wasn't even midnight yet.

"Just another dance," Michael assured him, reaching for his freshly poured whiskey. "I'll come back round at midnight."

I also grabbed my drink, satisfied to know I was getting a few more songs in with him. Seeming to take Isaiah's behavior as an example, Michael snaked an arm around my waist just as Daria called to me.

"You've got anymore of the fun stuff, Celeste? This whiskey is making me sleepy," She giggled, hanging on to the lapels of Isaiah's jacket. I laughed, extricating myself from Michael's grasp on me and setting down my glass.

"Fun stuff?" He asked. I propped one delicate foot on the rung of a bar stool so the garter circling my thigh was exposed. I was putting on a bit of a show for him, and his expression at my exposed leg was absolutely worth it. I took the little vial of white powder and shook it in front of him.

"The fun stuff," I grinned, pouring out a line on the counter top. I pulled out a hair pin and neatened it up before leaning down for a deep inhale. I scrunched my nose at the sensation, feeling it drip down the back of my throat. The rush was almost immediate. Daria quickly followed suit. I felt Michael's eyes on me. I fluttered my lashes at him "What, you don't have this back where you're from? Here and there and everywhere, wasn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow at me and pulled out a snuff box.

"You tell me," He offered it to me. I took it carefully and popped the silver lid open--

"Daria, look! There's so much Tokyo in here I think he's brought the whole of Japan to Camden Town!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed. That made the boys laugh. Michael and Isaiah cut up lines for themselves. Michael shook himself after inhaling, beating his chest like a wild man.

"I'm ready for another fucking Charleston, how about it love?" He laid a possessive hand on my hip again, just as grabby as he was when we were dancing. I smiled up at him, blood pumping, the high radiating out from my chest to the tips of my toes. I felt awake. _Alive_.

It was my turn to pull him to the dance floor. Everything was a whirl, like I was on a carousel, but instead of gilded horses all around me, it was gilded people, spinning in the smoke filled air. I lost myself in it-- in Michael-- who repeatedly found ways to draw me closer to him. His hands felt along my waist and hips, sometimes venturing lower but those advances I would cut off, laughing and retreating before twisting back into his grip. He just carried himself with so much certainty, I couldn't resist toying with him.

As the band kept playing and we had more drinks, whatever limits I'd been placing began gradually wearing down until we were pressing together like all the other couples around us. It had been a while since I'd really let loose and I was enjoying it far more than I'd expected. He, for his part, seemed fixated on the shape of me, hands skimming my hips, our lips nearly brushing almost a dozen times until I was buzzing with want. As I turned round to press against him teasingly, he finally seemed to lose all patience.

He squeezed my hips— from the feel of him pressed against me, _somebody_ was as turned on as I was—and then spun me around. I don't know what I expected, but I opened my mouth to say something only to find he was kissing me.

He tasted like whiskey and his hands were pressing, squeezing, feeling me up. I can't say I was unhappy about it, finally feeling his hot hands through the fabric of my dress. I slanted my mouth over his, letting him put his tongue in my mouth. It was sloppy-- we were drunk and high, after all-- and I fucking loved it.

We broke apart, his pupils blown wide. My hands on his chest, I felt his rapid beat of his heart through his shirt.

"Come on," He tugged me with him as we headed towards the back, in a corner closer to the big band than the bar. In the privacy afforded by a large potted palm tree, he pushed me up against the wall, mouth finding mine again. I moaned against his mouth at the force and suddenness of his advance, knotting my fingers in his hair. I tugged and bit at his lips in return, making him groan. His hands felt along my hips before skimming his hands to my ass. I broke contact with his lips and he moved his mouth to my neck.

"Cheeky, aren't you?" I said breathlessly, shimmying so his hands would move back up. He obliged me, but then sucked on my neck. My breath caught.

"Can't say I haven't been told that before," He grinned, releasing my neck and pulling back now. My hair was out of it's pins, long stray curls falling over my face. He tucked it back, looking in my eyes. That, of all the things we'd just done, caught me by surprise. There was an infectious kind of hunger in those green eyes. He broke the eye contact to grab his pocket watch. As he read the time, I watched his expression change and when his eyes found mine again, he was deadly serious. "Listen, love, you have to go now."

"What?" I asked, frowning. "Why?"

"Do you trust me?" He asked earnestly. I made a face.

"Of course not! I just met you!"

He put his hands on my shoulders and shook me, his expression terrifying now.

"Don't argue with me right now-- we're going to go back to the bar, casual like, and you're going to grab your friend. Leave through the back and don't turn back no matter what happens, alright?"

I stared at him, wide eyed, heart racing now for a different reason. I looked down at the gun in his holster and at his face, set grimly. I nodded, unable to speak. Satisfied that I was scared out of my wits now and willing to obey instructions, he took my hand and lead me back to the bar.

I extricated my hand from his half way there. He cast me a look, but I kept my eyes forward. I had a feeling about what was happening and I didn't need anyone to see me holding his hand right before it did. I sped up, leaving him behind.

"Daria!" I called to her, voice a little higher pitched than normal. I cleared my throat and finally closed the distance, grabbing her elbow. She frowned at me as I pulled her from Isaiah. I gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate, we've got to places to be."

"The fuck is going on, Celeste?" Daria complained, but I kept a firm grip on her arm.

"I don't know, but we need to leave," I told her. Maybe it was my expression or the tone of my voice, but she shut up immediately and stopped fighting me.

I met eyes with Michael as he walked past us to the bar-- his green eyes were piercing before they slid to Isaiah with a casual smile.

"Ready, mate?" I heard him ask as we rushed away.

"Always am," The other man replied.

Now, I know he told me not to look back. But I didn't know the man from Eve and I wasn't what one called "obedient." So, I paused at the stage door, Daria rushing to go grab our purses from the dressing room and leave through the back exit. I lingered just long enough to see the men in grey caps rush the club, overturning tables, breaking bottles, whooping and firing their guns into the ceiling. I jolted at the noise.

The crowd scattered like rats in their wake, only Solomon's men standing their ground and exchanging blows. They had to, Alfie would have them killed if he found out they ran. At the head of it all there was Michael, swinging a bottle of whiskey at the head of the hitherto-distracted bouncer. The man unconscious and bloodied on the floor, he climbed onto the bar.

"This club is now under new ownership," he roared over the din, smiling like the devil had overtaken him before adding. "By order of the Peaky fuckin' Blinders."

I retreated from the doorway, running now. Well. I was never going to let Daria live this down.


	2. Paradise on Earth

The Eden nightclub was exactly what it sounded like: a lush haven full of temptation. Instead of the verdant greenery of paradise on earth, however, it was full of booze. And music. And gangsters to dance with the dancing girls, and sometimes take them out back for a quick shag, doing lines of Tokyo off their already powdered breasts.

It was a high class place-- or higher class than the Camden Club, anyway. Thus, they insisted on the most au courant costumes and makeup. Powdering the décolletage was fashionable at the moment, as were sooty smoky eyes, lips stained currant red, and cheeks that flushed like a porcelain doll’s. The effect was intended to be striking— but I wasn't getting the smoky eyes quite right. I looked more like a raccoon than a silver screen vamp. Quietly moaning as I looked at my handiwork, I looked around for the one girl I knew would make me look like a star, even if I was still in the back of the line up. 

“Daria!” I called to her, the high pitched whine of my voice cutting through the smoke filled air. She was crimping her hair with tongs, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

“Wha’?” She formed the question around the obstacle.

“Look at me!” I pointed at the mess that was my eye makeup. “This is what happens when you let me do my own makeup—I look like I go digging through the garbage bins late at night!”

She tilted her head, taking it in. 

“You’re being a touch dramatic, don’t you think?” She smirked. “But fine. I’ll just be a minute with the tongs.” 

By the time I slid into the black and gold fringe dress they had us wearing, it was five minutes before floor time. I checked myself in the mirror, the golden filaments of the bare bulbs framing my mirror illuminating the reflection. I looked like a creature of the night in a different way now. A much better way, one that was sure to be moving me towards the front of the line up soon enough.

Officially, work consisted of dancing in various states of undress to a set of 10 songs with the big band on stage, led by Johnny, a conductor the Blinders had imported from New York when they took over. Johnny was “the cat's pajamas” (as he liked to describe himself), though he had a bad habit of playing favorites when it came time to choose his partner for each Friday’s improvised Charleston. Currently, that favorite was Stella, the lead girl in the line up. Simpering, trash-talking bitch that she was, she had a pair of legs that could high-kick for two hours straight. She was my competition, the standard to which I held myself.

After dancing on the big stage, the official work continued and mostly consisted of selling alcohol and cigars to the club’s patrons while in our short, sparkly black uniforms. Unofficially, however, if the higher ups of the Peaky Blinders were in the house, a few of the dancers would find their way into their arms after a few whispers exchanged with our stage manager, Phyllis. 

I was pretty new here, as was Daria, but we’d been working as dancers since even before the Camden Club raid. I knew what dancing for men in private was like, the things they expected you to do for money. I’d partaken before and I never wanted that part of my life to repeat. That was what had drawn Daria and myself to The Eden: money was good here and the bouncers took care of us girls. No one was given private dances-- unless, like I mentioned, they were a Shelby. There was nothing to be done if one of the Shelby men wanted you. 

Arthur Shelby had taken over for Mario Sabini all that time ago, but I’d recently begun to hear whispers that the club was changing hands again. Everyone knew Arthur’d been skimming the registers for drug money and Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, wasn’t one to be stolen from. In any case, it wasn’t any of my business, was it? I had a show to put on and it didn’t matter who was watching it so long as I got paid afterwards.

When we were in formation, the stage lights lining the edge of the stage were blinding and hot. It was only after the first song that my eyes had adjusted enough to see who was in the front row. Arthur Shelby, front and center. Next to him, surprisingly, Thomas Shelby. Perhaps the rumors were true after all. I could see other men seated round their table, but their faces were in shadow. Other Peaky Blinders, no doubt.

Nine songs later, our set was coming to a close, so Johnny took to the microphone.

“Ladies and gents,” Johnny’s voice boomed. “For our last song, we’ll be doing one of those hip and happening Charleston's all the cool cats in New York have been jiving to.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes at the silly American lingo.

“I’d like one of our charming ladies to join me and show you lovely folks how it’s done-- but which one?” He turned, tapping his finger to his chin like he was thinking about it. He always did this, the spotlight following his gaze until it landed inevitably on Stella. We all held our position, hands on our hips, one knee bent, alluring smiles gracing our faces. Instead of following routine, however, he turned back to his captive audience with a smile. “Why doesn’t our guest of honor decide?” 

He motioned to Thomas Shelby, who smiled coolly back. It seemed like he was going to refuse the choice, when one of the men sitting in the shadows behind him leaned forward and whispered in his ear. He raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. 

“The new assistant manager of this club wants the blonde in the back to give us a demonstration,” He called to Johnny. My heart stopped as the spotlight travelled to me. Johnny turned with a smile, extending a hand. Adrenaline pumping, I smiled wider like this was something I did every night, gracefully stepping out of the line up and taking my place next to him. I didn’t miss the glare Stella was sending my way and I loved every second of it. 

“What’s your name, darling?” Johnny asked, motioning towards the mic. 

“Celeste,” I leaned forward to speak into it. 

“Celeste! For your celestial beauty, no doubt,” Johnny grinned. I laughed. Stella was surely about to explode by now. The conductor turned to the band. “Ready, boys?”

“Ready, Johnny!” They shouted back. He kicked them off with a wave of his baton before reaching for me. My hands were slick with sweat and I felt like I was vibrating from how nervous I was, but we jumped straight to it. He was an exceptional dancer, improvising intricate spins and unexpected lifts. I did my best to keep up, letting myself get into it and have some fun. The Charleston was all about wild release, after all, partners kicking out and pulling back to center over and over like a tornado.

The crowd was stamping their feet and whooping now. I realized as the song was heading towards its finale that Johnny was prepping for a lift. He swung me out so I was facing the audience instead of him. Using the momentum, he lifted me up, bent backwards at the waist. I trusted him not to drop me, his hands my only support as he held me over his head. He did a slow turn as the cymbals crashed and the brass section screamed. I made the most of it, legs pumping gracefully, my torso draping back and my arms spread eagle. The spotlight dazzled me. He brought me back down and gave me another spin just as the song was ending, releasing me. 

In the rush of the moment, I did a turn, leg extended, that spiraled into a pirouette before sinking into a split, hands raised above my head. I knew Johnny was watching me and wielding his baton in my favor because the music extended, extended,  _ extended _ and then came to a crashing stop as I hit the floor.

It was mad. It was wonderful. The audience went wild. Johnny gave me a hand, helping me to my feet. He reached for the microphone.

“How about another hand for the talented Celeste!”

I laughed, exhilarated, and dropped into a curtsy before heading back to the line up. I couldn’t stop smiling as we filed off backstage. I hadn’t felt the rush of performing like this since… Well, it almost felt like an entirely different life the last time I’d had a stage to myself. Daria gripped me by the elbows and we screamed together like children as soon as we were out of sight.

“I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed over and over.

“You killed it, you bloody fucking killed it!” She chanted back. Stella rolled her eyes. 

“Jesus, you can tell the two of you are back up dancers, going on like that,” She lit her cigarette, plopping down at her vanity to check her makeup. “You’re going to make us all go bloody deaf.”

“My sincerest apologies,  _ Stacy _ ,” I said in a saccharine voice.

“It’s Stella, you amateur whore,” She scoffed.

“As opposed to a professional whore like you, eh?” Daria whipped back, making her face redden. 

“Why you little--!” The lead girl stood angrily.

“Now that’s enough of that ladies! Let’s not ruin a good night,” Phyllis stepped between them. Stella sat back down with a huff. 

“Sorry, Phyllis…” We apologized in unison. 

Shaking her head, the older, serious woman turned to me. “You’re wanted, Celeste. Change into your best dress and meet me at the stage door.”

She left without another word and I stared after her, wide-eyed. Stella was burning a hole into my face with her eyes and Daria gripped my elbow.

“Wanted?” She asked. “Wanted for what?”

I looked at her, suddenly very nervous. I extracted myself from her grasp.

“I’ve… got to change…”

My best dress was pale blue, with sparkling silver beads embroidered along the neckline and dripping from the swinging fringe that moved with every sway of my hips. I’d cut my hair short after Camden Club, so I just clipped up one side with a silver barrette before squeezing Daria’s hand and heading to the stage door. 

Phyllis turned to lead me silently to whoever had asked for me, but I put a hand on her arm before she could.

“Who asked for me?” I asked, trying to remain calm. She took in my expression.

“The Shelby’s, love… Don’t you worry your pretty head, they’re not in the private room,” She gave my face a maternal pat before turning and marching out into the club. “Right, follow me.”

Heart beating out of my chest, I followed her. We approached their shadowy table and she stood aside, urging me forward. Wiping my sweaty palms on my dress, I tentatively approached the man I assumed had requested me.

“Mr. Shelby?” I addressed Thomas, who turned his pale blue eyes on me. “Uh, you asked for me?”

“Wrong Shelby, love,” He said, looking me up and down. Oh, fuck, did  _ Arthur _ Shelby want me? I glanced at the man currently pounding scotch straight from the bottle and he gave me a toothy grin. I smiled politely back. I had almost made up my mind to make a mad dash for it when a familiar voice said my name.

“Celeste?”

I turned slowly and found myself in front of someone familiar.

“Michael?” I asked back, a smile spreading on my face. He was holding an open bottle of champagne and a pair of glasses, obviously just back from the bar. I pointed to what he had in his hands. “They would have brought that to your table if you’d asked, you know.”

“I-- I didn’t think of that, honestly,” He laughed sheepishly. His eyes flickered to his family table and he straightened up, clearing his throat. I could feel their eyes on us, even as their raucous conversation continued. “Sit with me?”

“I suppose if you insist,” I murmured. He laughed and I took a calming breath, happy in the knowledge that that this was not a business meeting after all. He lead me to the other side of the table. 

He pulled our chairs a little away from the table. I settled my hands in my lap while he poured the champagne, not really knowing what to do with myself. He shook his head.

“Fucking bartender told me I couldn’t open it myself inside the club. Hope it hasn’t gone flat,” He offered me a glass. I took it with a shrug.

“It’s club policy because of the fabulous chandeliers,” I gestured towards the sparkling fixtures that dripped from the ceiling like a cascade of diamonds. I sipped my champagne, taking the chance to really look at him. It had been so many months since Camden. “So… you look different.”

“Do I?” He looked down at himself. It was true, and not just because of his expensive new suit. He looked older, leaning back in his chair with his legs spread, tipping back champagne like he owned the place. Which, technically, I guess he did. “I don’t know, I think I’ve always looked this good…”  
I rolled my eyes and laughed. He looked at me over the edge of his glass, eyes wandering over my get up. His gaze not so subtly lingered on my crossed legs. I smirked into my champagne— some things about him hadn’t changed.

“You look different, too,” He commented, eyes flickering up to mine. “The haircut suits you.”

“Thanks,” I blushed. Was it my imagination or did he seem as unsure of what to do with himself as I did? It was odd, considering my only memories of him were as the charming, swashbuckling gangster that took down Camden Club. Speaking of which… “So, you’ve come back to London from here, there, and everywhere have you?”

I sipped my champagne pointedly. He twisted his mouth.

“I couldn’t really tell you where I was from back then without giving up the game, now could I?” He excused himself. 

“I suppose you couldn’t, but you let me think you were some low-life gangster when, in fact, you’re a Shelby,” I tilted my head towards the table in front of us.

“My name’s Gray, actually, so you wouldn’t have recognized me anyway, love.” Having drained his glass, he poured himself another. “I know this is the stuff you’re supposed to drink when you’re celebrating and being posh and all that, but, really, this shit wouldn’t give a baby a buzz, would it?”

I laughed, nearly choking on the sip I’d just taken. He chuckled and gave me a strong pat on the back. The noise I made drew the attention of Arthur. He first looked at me as though I’d just reminded him of something, and then around the club in search of someone.

“Oy!” he snapped his fingers at the waiter walking by. “Where’s the dancing girl for me, eh? You don’t think there are other Shelby’s sitting at this table besides the young Mr. Gray? Bring me the one with the nice tits, uh, what’s-her-name… Stacy!”

“Stella?” The waiter asked, looking terrified. 

“That’s the one. Go!” Arthur sent him on his way. His brother Thomas seemed unruffled by his antics, but I buried my face in my glass again the second he looked my way. 

“Sorry,” Michael murmured to me. I shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it,” I murmured back, before clearing my throat and raising my hand. The entire table’s attention turned to me because of the motion, but I kept my eyes fixed on the waiter who was rushing by me. 

“Yes, miss?” the harried boy asked me. 

“Bottle of Irish whiskey for Mr. Gray, when you can,” I smiled at him.

“Right away,” he replied before rushing off.

“But bring the girl first!” Arthur yelled. Shaking his head, Michael stood, extending a hand. 

“Care for a dance?” he gave me a meaningful look. I had no idea what it meant, specifically, but meaningful looks are not to be ignored so I took his hand anyway. He didn’t bother with the kick step of the Charleston, just holding me close like we were going to waltz, swaying back and forth. 

“I’d tell you this isn’t how you Charleston, but, what was it you said to me…?” I trailed off. I knew exactly what he’d said all those months ago, but I wanted him to show me he remembered that night with as much vivid detail as I did. 

“I still don’t give a fuck about the Charleston,” He chuckled, eyes scanning my face. I looked away, but I knew he could see how pink my cheeks were. Maybe I could sell it as exertion, but … who was I kidding, there was no way he couldn’t tell. 

I hadn’t forgotten about him. And I definitely still wanted to fuck him.

It was strange considering we hadn’t done anything particularly intimate that night so long ago. And it wasn’t like other men hadn’t floated in and out of my life the past few months. He, surely, had also had women while back in Birmingham... But still. It made my skin tingle when he leaned in to whisper against my neck. “And I think we were in the middle of something before I had to take care of business back in Camden Club.”

He pressed a kiss to my neck. I bit my lip to keep from gasping, squeezing his shoulder before I let my hand drift to his hairline. I pulled back now so I could look at him, but continued idly brushing my fingers on his nape. 

“You call that business? Just a regular day in the office for you?” I asked, ignoring how breathless I sounded.

“Well, not all of it… There were a few  _ distractions _ I enjoyed before work,” He smiled crookedly at me. I pursed my mouth involuntarily at being called a distraction before I wiped my expression clean again.

“You don’t seem like the kind of man to do anything for no reason,” I observed out loud, letting my eyes flicker to his. I’d wondered a long time what role I’d had in the takeover at Camden Club, if any. It was less paranoia for having aided gangsters in the middle of a turf war and more wanting to know if I’d been used.

The smirk fell off his face.

“You’re not wrong,” He conceded. “But I’ll have you know that dancing with you that night had almost nothing to do with our plans for Camden Club.”

“Almost nothing?” I could feel my eyebrows lift.

“If I’m being honest, the Solomon men tensed up the second Isaiah and I walked in, which was when, luckily, I spotted the most beautiful dame in the entire place,” he smiled charmingly.

“Uh huh,” I said dryly. “I’m going to assume chatting me up was just a ploy to get them to relax, then?”

“Yeah,” He admitted. “But it’s a funny thing, innit? I was only going to talk to you for a minute, dance with you for one song and then we’d get on with business as planned— but it turned out you were a terrible distraction, Celeste. Really, truly awful.”

I bit the inside of my mouth, but I couldn’t stop the smile that twisted my expression. Smiling wider, he continued.

“I was nearly late for the signal to my mates!” He exclaimed woefully, shaking his head, before leaning down right to my ear. “And all because there was nothing I wanted to do more right then than fuck you behind that potted plant. How’s that for a reason to do something, eh?”

“I think...I think you talk fast,” I murmured, stretching up to kiss him. His family was definitely going to think I was a whore now, but… I didn’t care. He remembered me the way I remembered him. He sucked my lower lip between both of his, biting down so I would dig my fingers into his shoulders again. The kiss deepened deliciously, his large hands bowing me to him at the waist. The dancing and the music were all but forgotten. We were kissing each other like we were going to fuck right in the middle of all these people. It certainly seemed he had every intention of doing so, nearly growling at me when I broke contact with his mouth.

“You’re such a tease,” He cupped a hand on my cheek, swiping his thumb over my parted lips. I resisted the urge to bite down.

“And I was just about to suggest we go somewhere quieter...” I said coyly, moving as though to keep dancing. And just like that, he’d regained his composure enough to smirk down at me, tightening his grip so I couldn’t move an inch.

“And do what?” He asked.

“You know what,” I looked at him through my lashes.

“Come on,” he pulled me close to whisper in my ear. “Tell me what you want from me.”

He, obviously, was trying to get me to say something along the lines of “I’m so horny for you, please fuck me,” which was rather rude because I had made it my aim for  _ him _ to say that to  _ me _ . Always with the power plays, this one. I narrowed my eyes… but then fluttered my lashes and bit my lip.

“I was thinking…” I leaned forward to whisper seductively in his ear. I let my lips brush his earlobe as I spoke. “We could go somewhere quieter and…”

“...And?” He prompted, smirking in a way that made me want to fuck  _ with _ him almost as much as I wanted to fuck him.

“Oh, I don’t know…” I began dryly. “We could go recite epic poetry and sit five feet away from each other… I can’t really think of anything else I would do with you in private...”

“Oh, yeah— wait, wha’?” He pulled back, frowning. He had to know I was just messing about, but he made a show of it. Just like I’d hoped he would. “Did you just say you want to let me bend you over and…” For this, he got close to me again. “Let me eat out that sweet pussy of yours from behind before I give you the first proper fuck you’ve had in months? Is that what you said?”

I couldn’t help how my jaw dropped a little— I was actually surprised by how wet that got me. Maybe it was the low growl of his voice. Or maybe how we were supposed to be joking with each other, but somehow it had turned into foreplay. I swallowed, grasping for my composure.

“Well, I was actually thinking about this copy of the Iliad I have… you have heard of Homer in Birmingham, haven’t you?” I inquired innocently, never mind how breathless I was. He looked up as though trying to remember.

“Homer… Is that the chap who fucked his mother?”

I burst out laughing.

“No, not quite,” I chuckled, burying my face in my hands. I could feel him laughing as well as he took my wrists and pulled them down. He kissed me and my laughter died in my throat.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” He murmured.


	3. Somewhere Quieter

The bottle of whiskey was waiting at the table, so we went by to scoop it up, his arm tight around me as he kept his mouth pressed to my ear. Stella was already sitting on Arthur’s lap, giggling and running her tongue up his neck. I was hoping we could sneak off without being noticed, but, of course, that hope was in vain.

“Celeste!” She cooed at me. “So you’re working late tonight, after all!”

She smiled between me and Michael pointedly and I felt him stiffen just a little. My cheeks heated up. Rich of her to insinuate I was whoring when she had Arthur’s money stuffed into her brassiere. 

“Work? At this hour?” I laughed lightly, already pulling Michael’s arm. “Not everyone has the stamina  _ you _ do, Stacy!”

She gasped indignantly as we turned away.

“Stacy?” Arthur could be heard asking. “Why ‘ave I been calling you Stella, then?”

Her exasperated squeals were like music to my ears.

“Fucking bitch,” I muttered under my breath.

“I’m not going to ask,” Michael shook his head, reaching down to grab my ass.

“Mr. Gray!” I giggled, scampering ahead of him and out of his reach.

Backstage was deserted by now, all the girls out serving drinks or gone home. I lead him to the backstage door and closed it behind us. When I turned, Michael was taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. I leaned against the door and we held eye contact for a moment.

“Drinking glasses… who needs ‘em?” I observed, pushing off the door and reaching for the bottle. He silently handed it to me, smirking. I unstoppered it and held it to my lips, taking a long draught. Michael watched me, the line of my throat as I swallowed and then how I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. He took the bottle again when I offered and walked down between the rows of vanity tables. I followed him slowly, admiring my view of him from behind. Broad, strong, dangerous looking… The new suit really showed him off. 

“Now… which one is yours?” He asked after taking another swig. “Is it this one?” 

He came to a stop in front of Stella’s “boudoir,” vases of flowers framing the mirror and her chair heaped with cushions and furs gifted by generous patrons (some from Arthur, actually). 

“No, unfortunately,” I sighed. “With the exception of tonight-- thanks for that by the way-- I’m usually in the back of the line up.”

I reached for the whiskey, but he didn’t let go.

“Back of the line up? This whiskey is for stars only, Celeste,” He held it away from me, making me jump for it, my body sliding against him. You know. Accidentally.

“Give it here!” I laughed. He shook his head, the corners of his mouth up turned but his eyes dark. Predatory. 

“Tilt your head back,” He ordered. 

“Why?” I asked.

“Just do it,” He smiled.

I raised an eyebrow… but then shrugged.

“Fine,” I tilted my head back. I felt his warm hand slide up my shoulder to cup the back of my neck, thumb pressed just beneath my jaw. A few more inches down with a bit more pressure and he’d be choking me. It should have made me nervous, but it didn’t. 

“Open up.”

I did as he asked, my lips parting. I felt the drip of whiskey slide down my tongue. He didn’t pour too much before setting it down on the table. His hand didn’t move so I had to swallow in this extended position. His eyes stayed fixed on me, as intense as if he were watching me perform some sexual act. I looked up at him through my lashes and licked my lips, feeling his eyes follow the tip of my tongue.

Whiskey swallowed, he buried his hand in my hair and kissed me. I let him deepen the kiss, my tongue flicking out to taste his. He responded by licking into my mouth, sloppy and possessive. I exhaled into the embrace, my hands burying into his close cropped hair so that my nails scratched at his scalp. He groaned into my mouth and wrapped his free hand around my neck. It was gentle, but I moaned at the unexpected gesture.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nipping at my lower lip. I hissed a little and nodded-- or I tried, his hold on my throat had become vice like.

“Say it,” He loosened his grip on me, pulling back a little. I’d begun to notice after I stopped whoring that I’d developed a penchant for being turned on by things I wasn’t supposed to be. I now added letting this Blinder choke me to the list. I’d done it before with Johns, but it hadn’t been the same then. It sometimes hadn’t even been voluntary, so it felt wrong to want it again, now with Michael… but I did.

Not wanting to admit it out loud, I reached my arms over his shoulders to kiss him again instead, but he just grabbed my wrists and pried me back down. He chuckled at my ensuing frown. 

“I asked you to do something, didn’t I?”

I shook my head, and gave a short breathless laugh.

“What if I don’t, Michael?” I asked cheekily, trying to lean up and kiss him again. He peeled me off of him and turned me around with embarrassing ease, pushing my hips against Stella’s vanity. One of his hands felt along the satiny fabric covering my torso, his other hand taking hold of my throat again. We locked eyes in the mirror.

“Then you don’t get what you want,” He murmured in my ear, rocking his quickly hardening erection against my ass. I bit my lip involuntarily and his grip on me tightened. “So, tell me, do you like it when I choke you? I’m not going to do it unless you say you like it.”

“I-- I like it,” I whispered. 

“Fuck,” He murmured, pressing against me again and again like he was already fucking me. The hand on my torso yanked up my dress and he put a hand between my legs. I gasped as his hand slipped over my clit to feel the growing patch of wetness in my undergarments. “I knew it…”

“Knew what?” I bit my lip as his fingers moved against me.

“I knew from the moment I spoke to you that you liked playing games,” He bit my shoulder and rubbed at my clit. I hissed at the sensation, reeling against his hold on me. He just held me closer. “What game do you want to play now, eh?”

I swallowed past the hand on my throat to speak.

“I— I want you to finish what you started at Camden Club,” I said breathlessly. He released my neck and forcefully bent me over the vanity. I was eye to eye with Stella’s tube of designer lipstick. 

“Be more specific,” He instructed, his voice deep and dark. His hands wandered up the backs of my legs, pushing up my dress so my ass was exposed. The swaying fringe tickled the front of my thighs. I wiggled against him when he pressed close and he responded by giving me a sharp spank. “Such a dirty tease, Celeste. I’m losing my patience with you.”

He spanked me again.

“I’m sorry!” I gasped. 

“Very good,” He chuckled, backing away. I missed the heat of him instantly.“Stay as you are. Hands on the desk— and spread your legs a little, there’s a good girl.”

I pressed my cheek to the tabletop and did as he asked. I heard him unzipping his trousers and I realized I was dripping in anticipation. The next time I felt him against me, he was teasing the opening of my pussy with the tip of his hard cock. Just a kiss of sensation, but it drove me crazy.

“Michael—,” I moaned. Another sharp spank. Fuck, even the pain felt good right now, I was so desperate for his touch.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Celeste,” He tsked his tongue, like a schoolmaster disappointed in my homework. 

“I want your cock,” I whimpered, arching my back, offering myself up to him. My composure could go fuck itself. “I want you to fuck me.”

Spank! He gripped my ass after appreciatively.

“You get so pink,” I could see him in the mirror, looking down at me. What a sight I must’ve been from his end, all ass and exposed pussy, framed by my garter belts. He shook his head and seemed to remember his purpose— making me submit to him. “But what do we say?”

“Please,” I elongated the word into a moan as he teased me with his cock again. “Oh, fuck, please...”

“Fine,” he conceded. I noted he was breathless as well, however calm he was trying to play it, but I wasn’t satisfied by that. There was only one thing I wanted and that was him. Inside me. “But, first…”

He disappeared from view in the mirror, kneeling behind me.

“Michael, what are you— oh, fuck,” I stuttered as I felt his tongue on me, sneaking into my wet crevice before latching onto my throbbing clit, swirling and sucking. I didn’t think I was going to come like this until a few minutes later. It seemed like an eternity, all my focus on the little nub of euphoria where his mouth was on me. I was so close, bucking my hips back against him to find my release, his hands gripping my ass. He let go, however, leaving me bereft to lick up the mess he’d caused to drip down the back of my thighs. 

“Mmmm,” I made a small complaining noise and wiggled my lonely backside at him.

“That’s enough out of you, eh?” He spanked me once, twice, three times, more times until I cried out and my nails scratched against the wood of the table top. “Tell me you’re sorry for doing that obscene thing with your arse.”

“I’m sorry!’ I gasped. He hauled me up, so I was standing and I felt him line himself up from behind. He latched his mouth onto the base of my neck. That was all the preamble he gave me before he pushed inside me. 

“Fuck,” He hissed, knotting his hand in my hair to keep me bowed taut before rocking in deeper. 

“Oh, god,” I moaned as he quickened his pace. He wasn’t gentle and he wasn’t a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t about to complain. He’d gotten me so ready for him that I craved the pain of having him so deep so suddenly. He filled me up over and over, sinking his teeth into my shoulder. That was going to mark. I hoped it would. After squeezing them shut initially, his eyes were back on me in the mirror, on the shape I took when his hands held me close.

“Look at how fucking beautiful you are,” he growled. “This table should be yours.”

I moaned— I could explain that it didn’t work that way once we were finished.

“Who’s fucking table is it, Celeste?” He asked me right in my ear, slamming into me deeper still.

“Oh, fuck,” I cried out. “It’s my table! It’s my fucking table!”

Was it bad that it turned me on to be desecrating Stella’s vanity this way? Probably yes. I was a little too busy to think about the moral implications right then, though. He put a hand on my throat, pistoning the thick length of him mercilessly inside me. It was like he’d found another entrance, a deeper one, and he was intent on opening that up for him, too.

“Fuck, Michael,” I whimpered over and over, high pitched and needy— for him, for his cock, for air… I was desperate for my release. “I’m so close.”

“Not just yet,” He pulled out unceremoniously. I made a noise— like a cat yowling, it sounded— that made him laugh breathlessly. The whimpers I made when he pushed back in for just a brief second to tease me were absolutely pitiful. 

He turned me around and kissed me, his cock like a stick of iron against my belly. I slid against him, hands against his chest so I could feel how sweaty he’d gotten through his shirt. Somewhere in my lustful haze, I noted his jacket and tie were gone, the top buttons of the starched collar popped open. Before I could wonder when he’d done away with them, he scooped me up and sat me on Stella’s vanity.

“Look at me,” He brushed back the hair that clung to my sweaty cheeks with a surprising gentleness. We hadn’t done any blow, but his pupils shrank the green of his irises until they were just twin rings around twin voids. He yanked down the straps of my dress. I heard the fabric rip, but I didn’t have a chance to care. His mouth was on my breast, sucking on the nipple until it stood at attention. I clawed at his hair, gripping him to me. 

He let go of me with a pop and then slid back inside me. If we hadn’t made a mess already on Stella’s desk, we were definitely going to now, items falling with a clatter as he finished giving me a proper  _ fuck _ . I held onto him for dear life, saying his name over and over. He was growling obscenities in my ear like the devil himself, whispering sweet, sticky temptation.

He looked into my eyes, leaning his forehead against mine.

“So fucking good,” He panted, like it was both a very good thing and a very bad thing. Must have been a mostly good thing since his expression spasmed as I clenched around him. “Come for me, there you go. That’s a good girl...”

So I did. And he watched every grimace, every wince and then finally the circular opening of my mouth as I finally released. I felt him shudder and pull out quickly, dripping onto the floor. I don’t know what urged me— I only ever did this if I was getting paid to— but I sank onto my knees and took him in my mouth. He was still coming and he hissed, spilling all over my tongue as I gently sucked him dry. I showed him my tongue afterwards and made a big show of swallowing it all.

“Christ,” He breathed. I smiled. Two could play the control game— I just had my own methods. My self-satisfaction was short lived when I tried to stand and found myself wobbly. He caught me by the arm, chuckling. “You alright? How’s it feel to be properly fucked, at long last?”

“At long last,” I snorted, before continuing sarcastically. “Thank you  _ so _ much for the kind gift you have bestowed upon me, sir—.”

“Sir,” He repeated, like he was feeling the word out. “I like it… I expect you to refer to me as ‘sir’ from now on.”

I rolled my eyes and I started straightening myself out— but something in me tightened a little. From now on, he’d said... This would be happening again, he’d implied.

“We’ll see about that— ah, shit, my dress!” The beautiful embroidery was frayed where he’d torn the strap. I pouted forlornly. “And it was my best one…”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” He apologized, toying with the fabric in a way that didn’t really imply remorse. He leaned down to kiss my shoulder. I couldn’t stop myself from shivering, my skin was still sensitive.

“Stella will not be pleased about what we’ve done to her vanity,” I took in the disaster area we’d left in our wake.

“Yeah, well, Stella’s a bitch,” He murmured against my neck.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” I smirked as his hands traveled back over my breasts to grab and squeeze. From the feeling of him pressed to my backside, it was time for round two.


	4. Suck It and See

I didn’t see Michael until the following Monday. Daria and I headed over to the Eden early to practice a new choreography with the girls. Phyllis wanted to start using some gymnastics in our routines, with one goal in particular: a pyramid of dancing girls. I had my qualms about it, but Phyllis was nothing if not practical and she wasn’t going to risk us breaking our necks if we couldn’t manage it. 

The back entrance was already unlocked for us, but none of the girls, with the exception of Stella, were at their respective vanities. They were gathered around mine instead, giggling and chattering.

“The fuck’s going on?” Daria asked loudly. Marla, a petite busty blonde, squealed in reply. 

“Celeste! You have an admirer!” She took my hand and dragged me through the sea of women. 

“I have a what?” I asked, but she just pointed to my vanity. Draped over my chair was one of the most beautiful dresses I’d ever seen. I picked it up slowly, my mouth dropping open.

“Jesus H. Christ,” I heard Daria breathe. The gauzy black fabric-- was that silk?-- was covered in tiny silver beads, the scalloped edges embroidered in even more dazzling beading. It scattered the light when I held it up for inspection. “You sure that isn’t for Stella?”

“It’s definitely for Celeste-- There’s a note!” Marla supplied the card helpfully. 

“You’ve already opened it!” I exclaimed. “Fucking animals-- I can’t believe the lot of you!”

“You’d have done the same!” Marla excused herself without remorse, the girls giving me some space to sit down but still hovering close by. Sighing, I examined the note.

“Well, what does it say?” Daria asked impatiently, peering over my shoulder. 

“Yeah, who’s it from? We didn’t get a chance to read it!” Another girl crowded closer. I rolled my eyes but then cleared my throat.

“Celeste,” I read aloud. “My sincere apologies for ruining your best dress. Here’s another I think you’ll find more than adequate… M.G.”

“M.G.?” The girls screeched. The name Shelby was bandied about with excitement. Michael Gray, the new assistant manager of The Eden, had sent me a new dress. I felt overheated, my cheeks reddening by the second.

“Jesus, I’m assuming you did more than just blow him,” Stella, who had wandered over at some point, commented as she puffed on her cigarette in it’s ridiculous little French holder. She ran her free hand over the dress. “Did you let him stick it up your arse for this kind of payment, Celeste?”

I froze a little, but Daria was quick with a reply.

“It’s funny how you know the going rate for sticking cock up your arse,” She quipped, snatching the dress away from her. I laughed, about to join in taunting her as Stella began yelling about how The Eden was turning into some low-rent whorehouse with the likes of us around, but Phyllis finally decided to break it up.

“Ladies! We have a rehearsal to begin in half an hour and every minute it’s delayed is getting docked from your pay-- now go!”

**\------**

The pyramid of dancing girls was not as easy to execute as Phyllis had hoped-- mostly because Stella insisted on being at the top even though Marla was obviously the smallest woman among us and weighed the least. This situation came to a head as she precariously attempted to climb up our backs, stacked two layers high already, and ended up toppling the entire edifice. 

“Fuck’s sake!” Stella exclaimed. “All you have to do is hold still, why is everyone so fidgety?”

Most of us refrained from replying, stretching out our sore backs with quiet groans. Marla, still pissy about being overlooked, muttered something about her being a cow which the lead girl thankfully did not hear.

“Quit lying about, let’s run it again!” Stella ordered.

Phyllis reset the record on the gramophone with a scratch and we started in our initial kick line. Patty had taught us all a little tap number to add as the transition. It was a nice little jig and I was glad to add it to my repertoire. The pyramid, however, continued to elude us. Which was unfortunate because we toppled over again just as Michael Gray walked into the club. 

Most of us were on the ground and bitching too hard to notice he was coming by but I was very aware of him as he passed by the dance floor. He made eye contact with me for one long moment, smirking as I straightened and pushed wayward strands of hair off my sweaty face. With a smile, he walked on to the offices.

Daria elbowed me. 

“I saw that,” She said, wagging an eyebrow. “Maybe you did let ‘im stick it up your arse, eh?”

“Oh, shut up,” I shook her off me, getting pink. I kept glancing towards the offices as rehearsal wound down. Just as we were giving the pyramid one last ditch attempt, the door to the club banged open again. Arthur Shelby stalked towards the offices while we all collected ourselves from the floor.

“Alright, that’s enough, the pyramid is cancelled,” Phyllis shook her head. 

“But—,” Marla and Stella both complained.

“We will work on it more tomorrow. Rehearsal is over,” the stage manager dismissed us. That gorgeous dress was still hanging off my mirror when I returned backstage, not having disappeared in a cloud of smoke like I’d imagined it would. Before I could change my mind, I grabbed it and the notecard.

The offices were on the other side of the stage, the entrance artfully blocked from view by gilded palm trees. I smiled a little at the potted plants and ducked behind. Once inside the little dingy hallway, there were two options: Arthur’s office and the Treasury.

The door to the manager’s office was closed, but the Treasury was cracked open and the sound of yelling coming from inside grew louder as I approached. Blame it on my innate curiosity, but I paused by the door instead of knocking.

“Whad’ja mean you changed the combination?” Arthur’s distinct voice exclaimed.

“It should have been changed a month ago, as it should be the last Friday of every month,” Michael replied, his voice calm and steady. “I don’t see what the problem is, I’ve told you what it is--.”

“I’m the fuckin’ manager of this club you little fuckin’ twat,” Arthur growled. “You shouldn’t have changed it without telling me first.”

“Changing the combination is one of my new responsibilities as assistant manager, Arthur. I don’t see why you’re complaining, it’s one less thing on your plate, innit?” 

“You think I don’t know why Thomas sent you to London, eh, boy?” Arthur’s voice was getting louder-- which meant he was getting closer to the door. Quietly I moved back to the hallway entrance and opened it, just as he burst out of the Treasury. 

“To clean up the mess you’ve made, you mean? It isn’t exactly a secret,” Michael called after him.

“Go fuck yourself, Michael,” Arthur spit on the floor of his doorway. He turned to stalk off, eyes connecting with mine as I pretended I was just coming in through the door. His gaze narrowed. “Or have your whore do it.”

He barreled past me, forcing me to flatten against the wall as he stormed out into the club. Michael appeared in the Treasury doorway just as the door slammed shut. I flinched a little at the noise and then raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked. His eyes traveled to the dress I was clutching.

“Not anymore,” He stepped aside, eyes scanning me up and down in my short rehearsal get up. “Come in.”

I stepped past him, suddenly feeling nervous. 

“So, this is your new office?” I asked, taking it in. They’d converted the treasury room, half taken up by the giant safe, into a makeshift office fit for the assistant manager, the new furniture all gleaming wood and brass. He crossed back to his desk and reached for the decanter.

“For now,” he shrugged. “Would you like a drink?” 

“Is that whiskey?” I inquired.

“Yes, it is,” He smiled.

“Then, of course I would,” I smiled back. I remembered the dress I was holding in my arms and cleared my throat. “Actually, I have a question for you before we have that drink.”

“What’s that?”

“...You bought me a dress.”

“I thought you were going to ask me a question,” He smirked, sipping from the already poured glass of whiskey.

“Why did you buy me a dress?”

He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Didn’t you get the note?”

“I did,” Now I was flushing. “But this is a very nice dress Michael… French silk it looks like, and the embroidery is a tidy piece of work. This had to have cost you in the hundreds of—.”

“I ruined your best dress,” He dismissed this information. “And I’ll spend as much money on gifts as I feel like, Celeste. Are you saying you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that, it’s beautiful,” I mumbled, before sighing exasperatedly. “Michael, is this dress payment for the fuck we had on Saturday? Tell me honestly.”

He frowned at me.

“Is that what you think the dress was supposed to be? Payment?”

“I— Well—.”

He burst out laughing.

“Do I have to pay you to get you to fuck me, is that it?” His eyes crinkled. “Because I got the impression you enjoyed every second of it. That’s why you’re here now, innit? To see if you can convince me to give you seconds?”

I had to physically stop my jaw from dropping.

“Right, because you had such a terrible time I’d have to  _ convince _ you for another go,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, just terrible. If anyone was working that night, it was definitely me,” He shrugged teasingly. I gasped a little at that-- I couldn’t help it.

“You know what?” I asked, leaning forward a little, noting how his eyes kept flickering from my eyes to my mouth and back. “I think you’re full of shit.”

“Am I?” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned forward, hands folded on the desk.

“Mmhm,” I nodded, mirroring his pose. “In fact, I have a feeling you got hard for me the moment you saw me on stage. I could feel the  _ gun _ in your pocket the second we started dancing…”

I smirked at him victoriously, but he just smirked back

“Then I guess we can both agree we wanted to fuck for purely physical reasons and money had nothing to do with it?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at me. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I… I guess we can,” My smirk twisted into a sheepish smile of its own volition. He really was a smooth talker-- almost as smooth as me, or so I told myself. The corners of his mouth turned up, he reached to pour me a drink. I took it, my fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”

“You know,” He lit up a cigarette. “I have to admit I did have an ulterior motive for buying you the dress.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I wanted to see you in it,” He inhaled slowly, letting smoke crawl out of his mouth and back up his nose afterwards. My other eyebrow joined it’s sister.

“Give me a light and maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about granting your wish for a fashion show,” I wiggled my fingers imperiously towards his cigarette case. He looked ever so amused by me as he offered me a cigarette. I leaned forward so he could light me up, his hand brushing my cheek as he cupped it around the flame. I pulled and then released a plume of smoke towards the ceiling before I stood. “You want me to change into it now?”

“Yes,” I could feel his eyes on me though I was studiously looking at the garment in question.

“So you can make sure it doesn’t need tailoring, right?” I asked, draping it over the back of my chair and letting my eyes flit to his.

“Right. Yes. Of course,” He smiled slowly. He had this way of looking at me, like I was already naked, that made me nervous and the resulting pleasant, fluttery feeling was not in character for me at all. I was a dancer, for Christ’s sake. I was used to men looking at me, but for whatever reason he continued to inspire an incredibly physical response in me. Setting my cigarette aside in the beautiful brass ashtray on his desk, I knew I was flushed pink under his gaze. 

Slowly, I lifted the hem of the dress I was wearing. I kept my eyes on his and bit my lip as I rolled it up to expose the lacy hem of my undergarments before finally pulling it up over my head. I folded it neatly and placed it on the chair. He dragged on his cigarette, eyes raking over my half-naked form. 

“I think I know what I’m getting you next…”

“Ah, so there are more gifts in my future?” I bit my lip again to keep from smiling too widely, busying myself with the new dress.

“Maybe,” He was smirking when the dress slid over my head. It felt heavy and luxurious against my skin. I smoothed my hands over the beading and smiled at Michael.

“What do you think?”

He tilted his head.

“Hm. Come here so I can see you better.”

I followed his instructions. He stood and circled me, cigarette in hand.

“Yes, this will do quite nicely,” He murmured, stopping behind me. He placed his free hand on my hip, his warm lips contacting my neck. 

“Careful, that’s how you ruined the last dress…” I warned, feeling his tongue flick out on my skin.

“I’m just kissing you, ain’t I?” He mumbled against my skin. His lips were warm and my hands fisted themselves into my new dress to keep from moaning. I felt his teeth close over the sensitized skin. I inhaled sharply, his hands squeezing my hips. Quickly, I extricated myself from his grasp and plucked the cigarette from his free hand.

“Mr. Gray, I’m starting to think you wanted to do more than just look at me in this dress…” I put my mouth on the cigarette. He seemed mesmerized by my lips and I carefully blew the stream of smoke to the side. As soon as I finished, he crushed his mouth to mine, gripping my hips. I made a little startled noise before relaxing into the kiss.

“What gave it away?” He murmured, lips so close to mine as he spoke I could feel the vibrations of his voice. He backed me up against the desk before roughly putting his tongue in my mouth. I was careful to keep the lit cigarette away from his hair as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He ran his hands lower over my ass, cupping and squeezing appreciatively before scooping me up onto the tabletop. I spread my legs so he had somewhere to stand while we kept kissing. He pushed the dress up my thighs with his hands, exposing the tops of my stockings. He looked down at the exposed skin with a bite of his lip. “Your legs are ridiculous.”

I lifted one and placed the tip of my shoe against his chest, pushing him back so he could really appreciate the appendages he liked so much.

“They are, aren’t they?” I considered out loud. “I think they’re my best feature…”

He grabbed my ankle and undid the buckle of my shoe so it fell to the floor with a clatter. His eyes were cat like as he ran his hands up my stockinged legs, spreading them again so he could get close.

“I disagree, actually,” He looked me in the eyes with dark amusement painted all over his face. 

“Oh? Why?” My heart beat faster.

“Because this,” He cupped my cheek, running his thumb roughly over my bottom lip, “Is obviously your best feature.”

His eyes were hooded as I gently bit the pad of his thumb. I let him slip his index finger into my mouth, sucking gently before running my tongue up its length and then taking it as far back as it would go. He stared, hissing when I reached my hand between us to feel how hard he was for me.

“Get on your knees.” He backed up. “And be careful with the dress. It was expensive.”

I snorted but did as he said, careful to make sure the dress didn’t get caught under my knees. Biting my lip at him, I made short work of his belt. It jerked when I set it free, already hard.

“You must be having a terrible time,” I said teasingly.

“Oh, shut up--,” He cut off as I ran a light hand over him, looking up at him through my lashes. Teasing aside, I ran my tongue up the shaft, pumping his thick length with my hand a couple of times before putting my mouth round the head. He gave me free rein for a little while as I worked my way down his shaft, up and down, deeper and deeper, until he was hitting the back of my throat. I let myself close up around him, making him groan. He buried his hands in my hair then, holding me in place and fucking my throat. My eyes were watering when he let me come back up, but I was enjoying this too much to stop quite yet.

“Fuck, there’s a good girl, there’s a good girl,” He murmured, wincing and moaning when I cupped his balls as I continued sucking him off. He liked his own rhythm, that was for sure, his hips moving to meet my mouth and challenging me to take more and more of him. He particularly seemed to like the obscenely wet noise we made when he was fucking the back of my throat.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” He instructed breathlessly. I looked up at him, nearly gagging as he filled my mouth back up again. He moaned when he hit the back of my throat again. “Take it, nice and deep. There you go, love, there you go, oh fuck—.”

The door was thrown open with a bang.

“Michael--,” A man began speaking, stopping when he saw the obviously compromising position we were in.

Michael quickly untangled himself from me with some muttered curses. I stood, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand and smoothing down my hair. The man in the doorway was Thomas Shelby. My eyes widened like saucers.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Michael growled, buttoning up his pants.

“Ever heard of locking the door?” Tommy asked back, leaning against the door way. “We have things to discuss.”

“And it can’t wait?” Michael asked exasperatedly

“No, it can’t. So, if you don’t mind…” Thomas looked at me for the first time since walking in. I realized as his eyes fell on me that I was being dismissed.

“Right, I’ll just--,” I gathered up the clothes I’d left on the chair, ready to run out of the room but I found myself stilled by Michael’s hand on my wrist. I stopped and turned back, surprised.

“I’ll be seeing you,” He said, seemingly having recovered from the shock of discovery enough to manage a smirk at my reddened features. I couldn’t help the twist of a smile that overtook my features before I pulled out of his grasp and rushed past Thomas Shelby. 

———-

Thomas didn’t move from the doorway when Celeste had left. Michael, composure now safely regained, crossed his arms and leaned against his desk.

“I’m assuming there’s some kind of emergency, Tommy.”

Tommy shrugged.

“Arthur came to me just now. Told me you were threatening to take over management all by yourself.”

Michael rolled his eyes and reached for his cigarette case.

“You don’t believe I would ever say some stupid shit like that, do you?”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t say that,” Tommy assured him. “But I just wanted to clarify— you’re here to make sure Arthur gets back on his feet and clean up the books. Once that’s done, it’s back to—.”

“Yes, yes, back to Small Heath I go,” Michael lit up. He inhaled deeply before speaking again. “But. Have you considered that Arthur might not get on his feet, no matter how much I try to pull him up?”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment.

“Arthur is his own man. I won’t forget that. But you don’t forget what you’ve been sent here to do, eh? And it doesn’t involve the boozing and the whoring you’ve been getting up to this past week,” He gestured towards the very spot Celeste had just been kneeling. Michael scowled.

“She’s not a whore. She’s a dancer.”

“Semantics,” Tommy raised an eyebrow as he watched his cousin clench his jaw. “In any case, remember your priorities, Michael. I already have enough shit to deal with, what with the remaining Sabini’s and keeping Alfie in check without Arthur hitting the fan. Alright?”

“Alright,” Michael agreed, jaw set tightly.

“Good.” Tommy turned to leave, but then stopped as though remembering something. “Oh, and Michael?”

“Yes, Tommy?”

“Lock the door next time, would you?”


End file.
